


shotgun

by Kalgalen



Series: this home we built [3]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (what else is new), Gen, Kepler Being A Manipulative Inquisitive Douchebag, Non-Graphic Description of Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: In which circumstances bring people together - much to their displeasure.





	shotgun

Whenever they pile up in a car, they automatically adopt the same pattern: Kepler in the driver's seat, because he’s more often than not the only one who knows where they’re going (and because it’s his vehicle, or one the company has entrusted him with); Jacobi on his right, claiming the spot from habit and seniority, and Maxwell settling in the back and perfectly satisfied with the arrangement as it leaves her a more comfortable personal space and room for her equipment.

They rarely differ from this configuration, and when they do, it's because they have no other choice.

It's because one of them got hurt.

Kepler remembers an hasty drive to the ER Jacobi had spent in the backseat with Maxwell, holding her as she swam in and out of consciousness, the makeshift bandage wrapped around her thigh just barely keeping her from bleeding out. There had been that time Jacobi had had to ask Maxwell to pull over and switch places with him, because her erratic, stressed-out driving had Kepler on edge more than the _honest-to-god_ crossbow bolts sticking out of his shoulder.

(He's still doubting the fact that someone has once judged she was a safe enough driver to release on the road, but her license had looked authentic when he'd checked.)

This time, it's Jacobi's turn to be relegated to the back. The painkillers they've given him before making their escape have kicked in a couple of miles ago, and he's currently passed out, sprawled over the seat and cradling his broken arm. He’d been projected full-force into a wall by an explosion (he would certainly complain later about having been betrayed by his closest friends, Maxwell would mock-punch him in the shoulder, and they would all laugh about it then, even if joking is very far from their mind right now.) The impact, violent even by their standards, had resulted in three broken ribs - a couple more cracked, doubtlessly - and a very broken right arm. Maxwell had looked at Kepler with shame right after she'd sighed in relief when she'd realized the left one - the prosthesis she'd built for Jacobi - was intact.

"Now's really not the time to feel guilty," Kepler had growled as he cradled a stunned Jacobi in his arms and hoisted him up in a bridal carry. "Let's get him out of here."

Jacobi's situation could have handled the 3-hours-long ride to the base, if it hadn't been for the concussion he was clearly sporting and the blood he'd spat out when they'd gotten to the car. Broken bones could wait; possible punctured organs were another matter, and required medical attention as soon as possible.

The drive has been eerily quiet so far. Maxwell is staring out the window, unblinking. Her breathing is deep and measured; she seems calm, despite the pitiful state of her best friend.

"You don't seem worried," Kepler says, and Maxwell starts at the sound of his voice. She glances at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Jacobi is badly hurt, and you don't seem concerned. Why?"

She considers him in silence for a moment, before shrugging and turning her gaze back toward the window and the blurry scenery outside.

"I can't do anything for the moment. Worrying won't help, will it?"

Kepler hums.

"Guess it won't, no."

The silence stretches once again like toffee. It feels... out-of-balance, without Jacobi to create a bridge between them. Kepler never realized how little they had to talk about beside work - and that's fine, he's not eager to get into personal conversations with anyone, but it means he doesn't have the same grip on her that he has on Jacobi. She doesn't need his approval. She doesn't even need his _guidance_ ; she merely tolerates it for as long as it coincides with her own goals.

It's an annoying assessment to make. Good thing he knows at least one of her weaknesses.

"Doctor Maxwell, how much do you care about Jacobi?"

He keeps his tone light, simply curious, but the look she turns on him is distrustful.

"He's- a good colleague. We get along."

"Doesn't happen to you often, does it?"

A beat.

"...No, it doesn't."

"Hm. Did you know he called you his sister, once?"

No answer. When he glances in her direction, she's barely holding onto the daggers she very obviously wants to stare at him.

"How does it concern you?" she says carefully, letting each word sit on her tongue before letting it out.

"I just like to be aware of the dynamics in my team," he answers, the picture of innocence.

Maxwell blows a long sigh out of her nose.

"We're- we're friends. I think. And- it doesn't happen to me often, as you said, so I appreciate it."

"Are you sure you're not looking for another kind of relationship?" he asks slyly, and Maxwell jumps, a scandalized expression painted on her face.

"No! _God_ , no, he's like my broth-"

He smirks, and she stops short.

"I don't think of him that way," she corrects herself, lowering her voice. "And I know he wouldn't consider me like this, either."

Kepler raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push the issue, instead looking for another scab to pick at. This is a perfect occasion to get to know Maxwell better; she's been with them for close to a year, and he has yet to discover what makes her tick - where her breaking point is. He couldn't have set up a better situation than a tense car ride with her only ally heavily wounded and unable to come to her help.

"What would you do if he died?" he questions casually, as if he is talking about the weather.

Maxwell looks like she's been slapped. She takes in a shaky breath, closes her eyes for a second - struggling to keep her cool.

"I-" Another shudder, followed by a promise, voice growing harder with each word: "I would make sure that the person responsible for it could never hurt anyone ever again."

She's not threatening him - not directly, she wouldn't dare - but her gaze, turned on him and steely behind her glasses, makes her intentions clear enough. He smiles - without warmth.

"Even if that meant endangering yourself?"

She glumly pushes herself back into her seat, and forces past clenched teeth:

"I'll risk it."

The silence falls again, heavier than before. _Hostile._ Jacobi shifts behind them, grunts in pain, and Maxwell twists in her seat to check up on him - hoping he would wake up, maybe, to save her from the prodding she's being subjected to.

No such luck, at least for her; Jacobi falls quiet again, and she settles back down, leaning as far away from Kepler as she can. As if making herself a smaller target could transfer his focus somewhere else.

“What makes being his friend so easy?” he asks. He doesn’t have much to focus on at the moment, apart from getting to the nearest hospital and prying Maxwell apart.

“What?”

“There has to be a reason. You don’t like most people. What makes him so special?”

Maxwell frowns, and doesn't speak again for so long he thinks she might refuse to answer entirely. But then she says slowly:

"He won't lie to me. Not about things that matter. He won't- make fun of me for not getting a joke. I-I don't have to pretend to be more than I am, around him."

"You don't have to pretend with me."

She barks out a laugh, but there's no humor in it.

"Ha! Yeah, I do. Might not work, but I have to try."

It never works. He sees right through her, just as he sees through everyone else - but the reason for it is slightly different.

"You're a monster, deep down. Playing at being human." She twitches but doesn't say anything, and he doesn't intend to actually speak the next words aloud but they slip traitorously from his lips all the same: "We're not that different, you and I." She stares at him in surprise, and- he can’t stop here, can he? So he keeps going. "Both playing a role. Both more dangerous than most people could imagine. You're just like me."

"Well, maybe I don't _want_ to be like you," she snaps.

Her eruption rings out in the lull that follows, but then she realizes what she just did and mumbles:

"No offense. Sir."

He finally managed to get a rise out of her, but it's not as satisfying as it should have been. That _stung_. More than it should have, for reasons he'd rather not examine too closely. Kepler breathes in, holds for three seconds. Forces his fingers to relax on the wheel, where they’re clenched in- anger? disappointment?

"None taken," he says pleasantly, and Maxwell sighs.

"I'm sorry. I think the situation is getting to me. Could we just… avoid talking until we get to the hospital?"

"Of course, Doctor Maxwell."


End file.
